Day 4 - Scene 1 - Rewrite 1
Enar woke up, and reality slapped him in the face with a cold fish. Everything ached. His mouth tasted like cold coffee and cigarette butts. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to force himself back to sleep. It didn't work – because it stupid never did now, did it? Something wasn't right, apart from the pain and the ache and the foul taste in his mouth, that is. He felt around himself and realized he'd fallen asleep on top of the bed, laying across it, with his feet sticking out the side, still wearing his jeans. Brilliant. Just, brilliant... He groaned, struggled with the bed covers, and eventually managed to sit up. This hadn't been part of the plan. He'd been supposed to be good. A nice healthy vacation, with lots of fresh air and good food, and some mild exercise, had been the idea – not getting stupid drunk and having a stupid hangover. He could do that at home. No way he'd be able to help Rolf out with any work now. He'd just get in the way and drop things and be a useless, pathetic, nuisance. His shoulders slumped and he sighed to himself. This time he'd really done it. Rolf would be so disappointed. Maybe he could sleep it off a little longer? Enar cursed under his breath. It must work. He had to sharpen up, or he couldn't go see Jolene. Then again, he might as well forget about her. She wouldn't want him anyway: a fat, hungover, city fylk, unshaven and clueless. What would she want with someone like him? She was pretty enough; she could get any man she wanted. Why would she even look at him. He sighed again. There was nothing for it. Too late now. He'd blown it – again. Hopefully he could get another hour or two of sleep before they came to wake him up. It must still be early. The light crawling in through the window was barely enough to see by. Very early. Not even the birds had woken up yet. Some more sleep would do him good. Please let it be so. His pajamas still lay in a pile on the floor where he'd left them last morning. He just needed to change into them and crawl in under the covers and that'd be that. Maybe he could splash some water on his face and have a drink as well – something to wash away the foul taste in his mouth. Then he could sleep and he'd wake up feeling better. He let himself relax a little. At least he had a plan. That was a start. He took one last deep breath, and with a groan he got out of the bed and on to his feet. Out in the hallway the jug lay crushed on the floor. Enar whimpered and sat back down again, clinging to the edge of the bed. This wasn't happening. He closed his eyes. This really wasn't happening. When he looked again the crushed jug still lay there, the upper half and part of the handle mostly intact and the rest of it spread out in millions of pieces all over the hallway. He had to clean it up. It was his mess. He had to deal with it. Now! Before anyone came to wake him up and saw it. There had to be a broom in the kitchen. He could use that. A broom, and something to scoop up the shards with. He could do this. He'd clean up the mess, explain to Rolf what had happened. and offer to replace the jug. It was the right thing to do. He'd broken it, and he should replace it. He just needed a moment to compose himself before he could get going. He took a deep breath and hung his head. It ached so bad. At least he had a plan – again. He just had to actually follow through with it. He just needed a short breather, clear his head, catch his breath. His shoulders slumped. Maybe he could go back to sleep and clean up later? Now! Mustering what will and strength he could manage, Enar got to his feet. For a moment he just stood there, swaying a little and making sure he had his balance. Groaning to himself he shuffled forward to get a better look of the hallway. Steadying himself on the doorway he surveyed the floor: pottery shards everywhere. He looked up, and his stomach sank. The door out stood wide open. Hadn't he had enough? On the door mat sat a night squirrel. It glanced up as he appeared, but soon dismissed him, and returned to pulling at a loose thread in the mat. A chill crept down his spine; there were pests in the burrow and it was his fault. Who knew what else had snuck in during the night? He had to make sure the burrow was clear. What kind of useless idiot goes to bed without closing the door? Enar drew in breath to yell at the critter and scare it away. A dry, croaking, noise rattled through his throat, and the night squirrel looked at him with renewed interest. It's dark blue tail quivered, but other than that, the little beast just sat there. Couldn't he do anything right? Now his throat ached too. He raised his arm as if to throw something, and with a wordless growl he swung it down. The night squirrel's tail flashed an angry white and it scampered off a few steps, across the threshold, and out into the morning. Enar lurched forward and heaved the door shut, right in its twitching little nose in it's stupid little face. The noise cracked against the inside of his skull, and he winced and pressed his eyes shut, supporting himself against the inside of the door. What had gotten into him last night? How many more creatures were already inside the burrow? How would he get them out? Please, please, please let there not be anything else broken. Easy now. One thing at a time. First things first. Calm down. Enar took a deep breath and opened his eyes. Darkness. With the door firmly shut behind him, the only light came from whatever spilled over into the hallway from the adjoining rooms. Sliding his feet along the floor, Enar shuffled over towards the doorway to the kitchen. Pottery shards rattled against the floor where he nudged them out of place; small edgy sounds that cut at his ears. He gritted his teeth and shuffled on. It was better than cutting up his feet on something sharp in the dark. Better yet had he not been a drunken fool breaking other people's properties. He'd deal with the broken jug first. He had a plan for that. It'd give him some time figure out what to do about any pests having snuck in while he slept. He just needed a broom – and sleep, but really, that would have to wait. The kitchen lay still and quiet, dressed in shadows and with all its cupboards and drawers tightly shut. A towel hung on a peg by the old iron stove and a bucket hid in the darkness under the work bench. Nothing moved. Enar stood still and held his breath. If something moved he'd hear it – probably. Nothing that might reasonably have entered the burrow could have opened a cupboard and shut it behind itself. Reasonably. He shuddered and tried not to think about it. Find a broom and clean up the shards and then take it from there. He sighed and slowly shook his head from side to side. What a mess. He wanted to sleep. There was no broom in the kitchen. If there was, he couldn't find it. He'd already looked in the stupid cupboard. Where else could it have been? He didn't find a spade either. A spatula hung on a hook by the stove, but that didn't seem like a good for very long. Too small – and he'd probably break it anyway. In the end he just grabbed the bucket from under the work bench. He'd just gather up the shards by hand and threw them in there. Sure, a broom and spade would have been better, but what could he do? There weren't any. Placing the bucket in the doorway, he knelt down beside it and grimaced. The cold stone floor was just murder on his knees. He shifted over and sat normally, leaning against the doorway. It wasn't as if he didn't ache enough already. Stupid head. The big pieces were easy. The upper half with the bit of the handle came first, then the larger pieces of the bottom half and then it got tricky. In the dim light of the hallway he slid his hand across the floor to try and find the smaller shards. Soon enough he'd cleared the area within arm's reach of where he sat. Now he only had the entire rest of the entire stupid hallway to clean up and he had to move to do that. This really wasn't part of he vacation he'd had in mind. Next time he'd get a hotel, by a beach, with room service – and hot showers. Groaning and grumbling to himself he twisted around to get into a better position. There was nothing for it; he'd just have to crawl around on his stupid knees on the stupid floor after stupid all. He leaned forward, reached out his arm, and set his hand down on something sharp that cut into his palm. Pain split through him like an axe through firewood. Enough already. He clenched his burning fist, cradling it against his chest. Gritting his teeth, he keeled over and curled up in a fetal position. Somewhere far away, someone rapped their knuckles against wood – way too loud. Enar groaned. Didn't they know he was sleeping? Stop making noise! He opened his eyes, stared out across the hallway floor and the pottery shards, and squeezed his eyes shut again. Crap. The world and the pain came back. He'd messed up, and he ached everywhere. His shoulder's ached. His hips and knees and legs ached. His back ached. Everything ached and the knocking came again. He rolled over on his back and looked up into the ceiling. The morning had come a long way. Light streamed in through the windows and outside in the orchard more birds than he could handle bickered about whatever stupid things birds get worked up over. The hallway floor pressed hard and cold against his back. “Enar, are you there?” came Linnea's voice from the outside. “Yes,” he croaked. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I'm awake.” Another breath. One more try – to make the point. “Yes, I'm awake.” “Are you okay? Dad said to bring you extra water and make sure you were up.” Water. His mouth still tasted like last week's leftovers. Bless. “Yes... yes, I'm okay.” The words rasped out of him. “I'm coming...” Grumbling, he forced himself up to a sitting position and shook his head to clear it from the haze. Bad idea. His poor skull. The cracks. Would he ever learn? “I'm coming...” he muttered to himself. Three deep breaths later he twisted around and, supporting himself against the wall with both hands, he climbed to his feet. The world spun. Floor and wall, bedroom and kitchen, Enar himself and the entire hallway with the broken jug – for a brief moment they all got mixed up and he couldn't tell anything apart. Ramming his eyes shut he clung to the wall, struggling to find his balance and himself. “Enar! Are you okay in there?” Linnea's voice cut through the confusion and gave him something to latch on to. The world came to a halt, and he opened his eyes. “Yes,” he shouted, a little louder than really needed. “Yes, I'm fine. Just a moment.” He took one last deep breath and let go of the wall. Swaying only a little he shuffled over towards the door. Sticking close to the inner side of the door he cracked it open and peered out. The light hurt his eyes. “Hi,” he croaked. He cleared his throat and squinted. “Good morning.” Outside, in the bright morning sun, stood Linnea – young and healthy and awake. Perky. “Hello there Enar. How are you this morning?” She smiled at him. “Dad said to bring you extra water.” She picked up a large jug from the ground beside her and held it out for him to see; a twin of the one that lay dead and in pieces on the floor behind him. “Yes.” He stared at her. How could she have so much energy? “Thank you.” They looked at each other; Enar clinging to the inside of the door, Linnea clutching the jug, none of them moving. “Don't you want the water?” she said eventually. “Yes...” His mind searched for words, like a tired old crow at a dried out, picked over, carcass. “I...” He swallowed. “I'm not decent.” “Oh...” Linnea blushed. “I'll just leave it here then.” She bent down and placed the jug on the ground in front of the door. “I... I'll be heading down again then... Please come down when you are ready. We still have some breakfast left for you.” Still? How late was it? How long had he slept? “I... My apologies. I'll be down as soon as I can... Thanks. I'm sorry... I'll hurry.” “Dad said to let you sleep so we already ate. He said you might be feeling a little bit delicate.” Her cheeks reddened and she smiled at him. “Erik's taken the kids to see Rufus and the dogs, so it won't be so rowdy around the table.” Enar released his hunched up shoulders and let out a long breath. Bless. “Thank you.” To think he could still smile. “Tell Rolf I appreciate it.” Linnea giggled and turned to leave. “Just don't take too long. We need to clear the table soon.” “I'll hurry,” he promised. He looked after her as she disappeared down the path – a butterfly in the morning sun. These people really were too nice to him. Much nicer than he deserved. When he was sure Linnea was out of sight, he pulled the door open, reached out, and grabbed the jug. Once inside again, with his back against the door, he drank deep. Cold, fresh, water ran down his throat and spilled down his chin, filling up his stomach and dripping on the door mat under his feet. Eventually, he moved the jug away from his lips, belched – loudly – and let a faint smile appear on his face. Finally. The road back to the land of the living didn't seem so long anymore. He might just get his miserable carcass of a body on the road again after all. In the washroom he found the broom.